grandiose and slowly falling apart
by cateliot
Summary: Melinda was the queen of what Natasha always referred to as "the little black dress", which had made no sense to him: all of May's dresses were exactly the same size. She was tiny. (This dress was different.) Post 3.07. Oneshot.


_**Author's Note**_ : Original Marvel Characters and location belong to Marvel Entertainments and Affiliates. Everything else is mine. Follow me on AO3 and tumblr cateliot.

 _ **x**_

"I heard Pepper Potts had it brought in from Paris."

"It's from Ellie Saab's fall collection, I think."

" _Wait, seriously?"_

Phil muted Daisy's conversation with Bobbi as he turned back his task. Each palm had a flute of champagne in it, perfectly balanced, with his one hand (however) shaking a little more than the other.

The room around them was warm with the activity of a typical gala; dancing, mild intoxication, and Phil walked over to their preapproved rendezvous location and set the glass down in front of her with a tiny bow and flourish.

"You shouldn't have," her voice greeted him dryly.

Rosalind was standing near coupling of tables. She was cloaked in a navy dress with lace running up and down the sides. It was beautiful he noticed as he walked closer, silky and elegant. She stood stock still, comfortable in her very tall heels that made put them almost at eyelevel.

"Thoughtfulness is my M.O."

She offered him an even smirk. She wore shimmery eye shadow, he noticed, something skin colored that caught the light.

"May's made contact with the Oslov."

He nodded once, his hand coming to rest next to hers on the table as he located May in the crowd.

(It wasn't hard.)

The red dress was nothing like her normal choice of attire for these kinds of missions. (Melinda was the queen of what Natasha has always referred to as "the little black dress", which had made no sense to him: all of May's dresses were exactly the same size. She _was_ tiny.)

But this one was different.

It shone with the attention of everyone in the room, not just the mark. The slit up the side made it possible for her to move without restriction and Phil knew if worse came to worse, she could still take out everyone in the room within a few heartbeats.

Pepper wouldn't have sent her such a frivolous dress without sending her photos first. Melinda would have had to approve this dress. And it wasn't for his benefit. Or the mark's. And it definitely wasn't for Melinda herself.

She had worn a similar color on the day she had gotten married. It had been a simple dress, Melinda never liked shiny things that drew attention to her (she did that all on her own), red and layered with tiny silver stitching.

Because Andrew loved her in red and she loved Andrew.

 _Now it was her color of mourning._

And he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Perhaps we should go say hello to the mark," Rosalind's voice shook him out of his revere and he forced himself to turn his gaze back towards her. "How does that sound, honey?"

It was strange, hearing the words of endearment so quickly slip from her lips. Usually when he was undercover with May as a couple, married, dating, bickering, or otherwise, their dialogue wasn't so…normal, base.

(He and Melinda didn't operate in such a civilian fashion.)

"Sounds like a plan, dear."

The word was flinty on his tongue, but he swallowed it down with a sip of champagne and planted a smile on his face.

"Mister Oslov? Lovely to meet you," Rosalind greeted the mark with a charming smile. "I'm Julie Prince, State Department. Dr. Chen was it? A pleasure."

They spoke for a moment, allowing Phil's mind to wander through the music and the chatter. As the conversation turned towards him, he smiled, forcing himself to lean forward into the introduction with the HYDRA arms dealer and shake the man's hand, metal hand to scan the man's fingerprints for better use later.

He turned to Melinda, shaking her hand with a small dip of his head at Rosalind's introduction. May's hand was smooth and cool; her fingertips light and airy like her usual touch.

He glanced up at her face from their locked hands to find her looking up at him through her eyelashes in a way that was gorgeous and obvious, and somehow still _Melinda_.

Rosalind's hand tightened on his forearm suddenly, startling him.

"Dear?"

He had been holding her hand too long, he realized. An abnormally long amount of time and people were noticing… _the mark_ was noticing. Phil immediately released May's hand. There was chatter all around them buzzed in his ears.

(It had been years, _years_ , since Melinda had allowed him to hold her hand, he realized later.)

Melinda lips moved (deceptively hypnotic in a shade matching her gown) and the group around them laughed at whatever she had said as they turned their attention back to her.

"Feeling all right, dear?" Rosalind's voice pulled and him again, forcing himself back to central ground. She stood next to, navy dress and silver pumps, her eyes intently locked on his. She was great, he realized in that moment, funny and smart and good at her job. (Only a little broken.)

But Phil could feel May's eyes on him as well, as she continued her interaction with the mark. He forced himself to not turn back towards her. (He'd spent years glancing back at Melinda, hoping she'd take another step closer.)

Champagne stung at the back of his throat as he turned away from May and her red dress.

He was compromised; it was time for him to go back to the base.


End file.
